Too Close to Home
by Anne Phoenix
Summary: Alex only ever wanted a normal life, but when terrorists attack his school, he finds himself mixed up in a terrible plot. Against his will, Alex is thrust back into a world of violence and danger.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Too Close to Home (Chapter 1 - Prologue)

Author: Anne Phoenix

Rating: R for violence. There are no sexual situations in this fic.

Disclaimer: The characters represented in this story do not belong to me. This story is written for entertainment and non-profit purposes only.

**Too Close to Home --- Prologue**

It was a typical London day. The sun peeked shyly out from between dark clouds, only slightly brightening up the otherwise grey surroundings. The schoolyard was silent and deserted, rain dripping from empty swings and running down the slide in little sparkling torrents. Inside the building, corridors and stairwells were just as empty; human presence was evidenced only by the tracks of muddy footprints that the porter would have to scrub up later.

In the silence, only one sound could be heard, and that was the steady drone of a monotonous voice coming from behind a blue door. It was a familiar voice, reminiscent of any school at ten o' clock on a Monday morning. Brookland – a Chelsea-based Primary and Secondary school – was just a morning school on a normal day.

Morning assembly was long over and teachers, students and support staff alike had disappeared behind brightly coloured doors for the day. Rows of children sat in the classroom behind the blue door, either paying attention to the teacher ahead or daydreaming. One child in particular found himself daydreaming even though he was actually doing his best pay attention.

Alex Rider had already missed too many weeks of school, and he was worried that he would never be able to catch up on his lessons. He was one of those rare children who actually _wanted_ to pay attention and learn something, to do something with his life. But Alex found his mind wandering as the droning voice of Mr Donovan washed over him. Trigonometry, Alex decided, was probably not going to play a significant part in his life.

If he had any say about it.

Unfortunately, Alex rarely had much say about anything that happened in his life.

He rolled his head around on his shoulders. He'd been back at school for three weeks now and his wounds sustained at Flamingo Bay had only just finished healing. He found it hard to concentrate and the minutes felt like hours – every time he closed his eyes, he could see the large bloody hole Alexei Sarov had blown into his own chest; he could feel the hot splatter of blood hit his face and drip into his eyes, clouding his vision in a red haze. He'd been having nightmares about it for weeks. Sarov's face would turn into Yassen Gregorovich's, twisted in pain and pleading with Alex to help him; to _save_ him. Sometimes, Alex saw Paul in his nightmares. Paul, falling back after his father shot him; falling back and never getting up …

With a start, Alex realised that Mr Donovan was addressing him. He glanced up at the blackboard, and then shook his head to indicate that he hadn't been listening. Mr Donovan sighed.

"Alex, you really need to get a grip on this material if you want to catch up with this class!"

A few boys sniggered. Everyone knew that there was something strange about Alex. He was away from school for weeks at a time and seemed to become more aloof with each absence – many people assumed that he was in trouble with the police. Only his best friend, Tom Harris, knew the truth about Alex, but even he wasn't truly able to appreciate it. He assumed Alex's life was exciting and glitzy, like some kind of junior James Bond

Alex nodded in resignation. He knew his teacher was right, and he really didn't want to be held back a year, because then he would lose the few friends he had. But he only managed to listen to the lesson for a few minutes, before that feeling of listlessness took over again.

Sighing, Alex turned back to the window. The last of the raindrops were rolling down the glass, leaving scaly stains in their wake. Beyond them and the glass, the murky schoolyard still stood empty.

A black car on the street attracted Alex's attention.

It was a Jaguar – not the kind of car that would usually be found standing on the double yellow outside Brookland school. He felt instantly uneasy about the car and the background drone of the classroom faded away as all his senses focused on it. Could it be another drug dealer? It seemed a bit early in the day for drugs, and the car seemed a bit too flashy.

In his heart of hearts, Alex thought he knew to whom the car belonged.

MI6.

It had to be. They'd come for him. Again. His jaw set angrily. Well, he wasn't going. Not this time. He'd had enough of being sent to his death.

Just as he was about to turn back to the class, a black Humvie cruised down the street. It paused by the Jaguar, momentarily obscuring it from view, before moving on. Several minutes later, it appeared again. By the third time, Alex had no doubt that the Humvie was circling his school. And that meant it was circling _him_.

But why?

His fingers clenched on the mobile phone MI6 had given him. They'd said he should use it in case of emergency … but this wasn't an emergency, was it? It was probably them, MI6, trying to intimidate him. Or maybe trying to test him, to see how alert he was?

_"Alex?"_

Mr Donovan sounded sharper now, angry that Alex was still ignoring his class.

"I'm trying, Sir," Alex answered, "But I don't feel well. Can I go see the nurse?"

Mr Donovan sighed deeply. He did not know what to make of this student. Alex used to have such excellent results in class, but since the death of his uncle, he had changed almost beyond recognition. Still, Mr Donovan supposed it had to be hard for a child to lose his entire family before the age of fourteen. One had to make exceptions for that. He nodded. "Go on, Alex. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ignoring the derisive glares of his classmates, Alex packed up his schoolbag and made his way out of the classroom. But he had no intention of going to see the nurse. Moving stealthily, Alex made his way down to the main doors of the school. He paused, watching through the glass as the Humvie wound its way around once again. The Jaguar still stood on the double yellow lines, looking eerily out of place on the dirty, grey street. Right, that was it, he was going to march right up to the car and tell MI6 what he thought of them!

He was just about to exit the school when his sharp eyes caught a glint from the top of the building across the street. He quickly stepped back, his heart leaping to his throat. It shouldn't be possible, but … Alex peered upwards through the glass door and exhaled shakily. It was a sniper.

Ok. This was definitely not MI6. Now that he knew what he was looking for, Alex could suddenly spot several snipers, all of them aiming towards Brookland school. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest _– he had to alert MI6! _

He pulled out his mobile phone, but was horrified to find that it showed no signal. He tried dialling the number anyway, but was met with nothing but a series of beeps and a voice telling him he was out of range. How was it possible? Someone had to be blocking the mobile coverage over the school … and that was very bad news.

Knowing that he had to get to a landline, Alex turned and sprinted back up the muddy stairs toward the headmaster's office. He froze at the top of the stairs, before ducking behind a door: a group of men with guns had just entered the corridor from the other side, evidently heading for the administrative offices.

Pressing himself against the wall, Alex caught his breath. He was trapped. And the school was under siege …

_To be continued ... _


	2. Chapter 2

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 2**

Pressing himself against the wall, Alex caught his breath. He was trapped. And the school was under siege …

There was no safe way out of the school and Alex was unarmed. Well, he had one stunning dart left in his mobile phone, but that wouldn't even be enough to take out the men he'd seen in the corridor, let alone deal with any backup they might have. That left Alex with two real options: he could try to gain access to a landline and call for help, or he could hide until this whole charade was over.

Alex sighed. He wasn't hiding.

He hoisted his bag onto his back, not wanting to leave it in the stairwell for the armed men to find, and peered around the corner into the administrative corridor. The men had disappeared, presumably into the offices. Alex could hear voices, but it was impossible to make out what they were saying. Padding softly, he made his way to the headmaster's office and pressed his ear against the closed door.

_"… search the school … make sure you contain any trouble-makers …"_

He could only hear snippets of the conversation, for the rest was interrupted by the headmaster's pleading not to harm the children. But Alex's intrigue had been piqued – what did the men want? Were they after _him_ or could this be unrelated?

The sound of footsteps approaching made him jump back. He made it back to his hiding place in the stairwell only seconds before more men marched into the corridor – they carried semi-automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. They too stopped by the headmaster's office, and Alex heard a hushed exchange. Although he strained his ears, he could not make out the words. The effort proved redundant a moment later, however, as the school loudspeaker suddenly crackled to life.

"Good morning, dear students of Brookland. I speak in the name of the Black Hawk Group. It will not have escaped your notice that your classrooms have been secured by our agents – they will not hesitate to shoot anyone that resists. We are here because your people, your _government_, has tried to double-cross us."

Alex's mind whirred – he'd never heard of the name before. _Black Hawk Group._ The man sounded like he meant business. His voice was cold and uncompromising, his bitterness audible.

The voice continued, "You are … how shall I put it … our _security_. Your government promised us a delivery, but then tried to ambush our agents. Now it is time to strike back. You government now has one hour to deliver the good or … well, let's just say that the slaughter of an entire school should remind your people of their place."

Alex rubbed his hands over his face. This was more serious than he'd thought. This was _very_ serious … and yet, he _still_ had no idea whether the choice of Brookland had been coincidental, or whether he, Alex, was somehow implicated in the choice. Regardless, he had to save the school!

"You two check the stairs and I'll do the toilets," a stern voice commanded from nearby. _Shit!_ Alex bounded up the stairs three by three, knowing he had to get out of there before the men arrived. He couldn't knock them out, for that would surely alert the others that something was amiss. He _needed_ a place to hide.

He reached the upper level of the school without being seen and crept out into the hallway. There were only two used classrooms up here – the others were art workshops that were only unlocked on Wednesday afternoons – so Alex assumed there would be fewer guards. He could see no one at all from his position, so he cautiously approached the nearest classroom. Through the keyhole he could make out only one man, but he knew that at one least one more would have been necessary to secure the room.

He'd just have to risk it …

He did not need to fake his fear as he entered the room – he _was_ terrified. His face was pale and his steps unsteady. The second guard had been standing on the far side of the room, out of sight. Both whipped around to stare at Alex, who found himself pinned between the barrels of two rifles.

"Who are you?" the blond-haired guard demanded.

Alex swallowed heavily. "I was in the toilet," he said, making his voice sound as pitiful as possible. Again it wasn't hard – his voice trembled a little at the precariousness of his situation. The blond man visibly relaxed. He jerked the barrel of the gun towards an empty seat, making it clear that Alex was to sit down.

But Alex had no intention of doing so.

Taking advantage of the man's brief distraction, he crouched low and snapped his leg into the man's hand, forcing him to drop his weapon. He quickly backed up his kick with a forceful punch. It caused a sickening crack as the man's nose broke and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Alex wasted no time. The moment he saw the first gunman go down, he threw himself across the room at the second. The man was obviously not expecting such an immediate and direct attack, for he too was quickly put out of action. With both men slumped on the floor, Alex turned to the students. They were a year older than him and stared in disbelief.

"Right. Everyone check your phones – if anyone's got a signal, let me know. Get all the tables and push them against the door. We've got to barricade this room, befor—"

Alex's sentence was cut short as the door burst open and three more armed men ran in. Immediately, Alex fell into a fighting crouch, but he knew it was hopeless – he was badly outnumbered.

One of the men stepped forwards carefully, keeping a wary eye on Alex.

"Nice try, boy, but we have snipers watching every window of this building. Surely you did not hope for your little escapade attempt to go unnoticed by them?"

Still crouching, Alex backed up until he felt the wall trapping him. The man was beckoning him with a beefy finger. "Why don't you come with me? We don't want no trouble-makers ruining our plans."

Alex shook his head and pressed himself against the wall. The man smiled, showing crooked teeth and a sadistic leer. "Very well," he hissed, and without further warning, he suddenly aimed his gun at the teacher and fired. The teacher's head exploded in a red ball of blood and brains. Alex thought he was going to be sick – images of Alexei Sarov's last moments invaded his mind unbidden. Blood, blood everywhere. He barely heard the terrified screams of the students. He saw nothing, but the crooked smile of the killer and his beckoning hand. _"Come, boy …"_

Alex knew he should refuse, he should _fight_, but he also knew that the lives of the other students in this room depended on his immediate actions. He straightened his spine and took a deep, shaky breath before obeying.

Strong hands gripped his upper arms and Alex was frogmarched out of the classroom. He hardly noticed his feet taking him back down the stairs to the administrative corridor – his mind was blank but for the horrible memories of so many bullets taking so many lives …

_To be continued ... _


	3. Chapter 3

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 3**

_Strong hands gripped his upper arms and Alex was frogmarched out of the classroom. He hardly noticed his feet taking him back down the stairs to the administrative corridor – his mind was blank but for the horrible memories of so many bullets taking so many lives …_

Meanwhile, in the Royal and General building, Alan Blunt stared at a television screen in disbelief. "They're holding the _entire_ school hostage?"

"Alex's school," Mrs Jones confirmed grimly.

"And they want us to give them the weapons or—"

_"Or they kill everyone."_

Neither of them spoke for a while. Blunt still observed the screen, his face not showing any emotion as he watched the image that was being transmitted from the hand-held camera. All the classrooms had been secured. There were armed guards everywhere, bombs on the main doors and snipers aiming toward the building. The camera focused on the scared faces of the students and their teachers.

"Well, we can't give them the weapons," Blunt finally announced. "We only agreed to that trade to lure the Black Hawk Group into a trap. It backfired, but that's neither here nor there. No negotiation is possible."

He switched off the television screen and turned toward Mrs Jones. She looked angry, but not at Blunt. After all, she knew that MI6 couldn't just give in to the terrorists' demands. Who knew what they would ask for the next time?

"Are we going to storm the school?"

Blunt stroked his lip thoughtfully. "It's very well protected. There's no way we could sneak up on them without risking the lives of our men and of everyone inside. No. We'll see what Alex comes up with and we'll take it from there."

Of course, if Blunt had still been watching the camera transmission, he would have seen that Alex was not in a situation to come up with anything. He was standing in front of the headmaster's office, where the Black Hawk Group had set up their base of operations, held securely between two guards.

The first guard – Cleaver, Alex had overheard his nickname – knocked on the door. It opened a little to reveal a small-statured, blond man with a cruel face.

_"What?"_

Alex immediately recognised his voice. He had been the one who had talked through the public announcement system.

"This boy knocked out Bentley and Reby upstairs. He was trying to rally his mates into making a run for it. Didn't wanna leave him unsupervised," Cleaver explained, pushing Alex forward as he spoke.

The tiny man's eyes narrowed. "Bring him in then."

Alex was manhandled into the office. He'd been there many times before, of course; but it had been changed beyond recognition. Screens and laptops had been set up everywhere – a huge antenna stuck out of the window, evidently serving to keep different units of the group in contact. Alex caught a glimpse of his headmaster and school secretary in the adjoining reception area – they were sitting on the floor, handcuffed and subdued.

When the door closed again, the tiny man spoke, "So … trouble-maker, eh? Did you not hear the announcement, boy?" His voice was as emotionless as before. Alex could see a faint scar running down his left cheek.

"I heard it."

"And? You thought you'd just ignore it? I don't think you understand the situation your school is in, Mr—"

"Rider."

"_Mr Rider._ You, your friends, and your teachers have just over one hour left until we turn this place into a bloodbath. Your government has messed with the wrong people."

Alex stared at the little man. There was no indication of pity or empathy in his expression. He didn't care that four hundred students were going to be murdered.

"What do you want?"

"That's none of your concern. The question is, what do I do with you?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, and then smiled coldly. "_Yes_. Cleaver, put him in with the others. In thirty minutes, we'll make a new transmission to British Intelligence. In fact, we'll transmit it to every television in the country. Using this boy as an example, we'll show them that we are indeed serious about our threat."

Alex was pushed into the reception room. His heart hammered against his chest, threatened to break through his ribs – he felt helpless and cornered … _scared._ His arms were wrenched behind his back and he was handcuffed to the radiator. "Don't even think about trying anything clever," Cleaver sneered as he walked out.

"What happened?" the headmaster asked in a hushed tone.

Alex let himself slump back. "They killed Mr Simms." He could hardly say it without the memories flashing back. The secretary cried out faintly, but Alex continued despite his choking up voice. "They want to kill _me_ next."

"Why you?"

"It's always me, isn't it," Alex sighed. He felt drained, but he knew he couldn't give up now. After all, he had only half an hour to find a way out of this hellish situation.

When he was sure that Cleaver was out of range, Alex twisted his wrists in the metal handcuffs. They were too tight – he succeeded only in bruising and tearing his own skin. He wished he had some gadget left over from his last mission, but apart from the phone still stuck in his pocket, he was all alone and helpless. _Unless …_

"Miss Bedfordshire," he hissed in a low voice. The school secretary looked nervously over to him.

_"Hair pin,"_ Alex mouthed, shaking his head a little to reinforce his point.

It took two more lip reading attempts, but she finally understood what he wanted and twisted in her cuffs to reach her head. She was still scared, but she was willing to try and help Alex – somehow, he seemed to know what e was doing. Discretely, she tossed the pin over to him and watched as he manoeuvred it behind his back with his legs and then picked it up.

It was easy to open the handcuffs. All handcuff locking mechanisms are essentially the same and are operated by a very simple miniature slipbolt – very easy to pick if one can reach it. It made a loud click as it opened, but thankfully no one from the other room heard. Alex was free.

What now? _The window_? He debated whether to free the school staff or not, but decided that it would only get them into trouble. Well, _more_ trouble than they were already in.

Checking the door to make sure no one was watching, Alex unlatched the window. It was the modern type that swings inwards. Luckily for him, it was well greased and opened without a sound. He knew the headmaster and secretary were staring at him in disbelief, but he couldn't risk the noise of explaining why he was leaving them behind. He just hoped they wouldn't inadvertently raise the alarm.

There was a small ledge outside the window and Alex stepped out onto it. He didn't look down, but his limbs trembled with fear. He knew he had to edge his way to the right – the next window was the staff toilet. From there he could safely re-enter the school. To the left, however, was the headmaster's office – the terrorists inside would surely spot him immediately.

Alex pressed himself against the window, making sure his foot and handholds were secure. He was just about to start his leftward journey, when the window next to him exploded in a web of shards! Looking across, Alex could see a small perforation in the centre of the glass. A bullet hole! He almost let go of the ledge in shock. He hadn't thought of the snipers, and now they were sure to have contacted the central command to inform them of the boy hanging out of the second floor window.

He looked down, closing his eyes when a wave of vertigo swept over him. It wasn't far. He could jump. He wouldn't die … but of course the snipers would finish him off.

Despite his closed eyes, Alex felt the building tilting in his grip, as though it wanted to throw him down. He knew he had to focus and stared at his own hands, trying to let their stability transmit to his brain.

Another bullet whizzed past him and ricocheted off the metal structure of the school. Alex knew defeat when he saw it. It had been worth a try, but unless he wanted to lacerate his hands on the broken glass or be killed by the next bullet, he could only go back. After taking a moment to breathe slowly to overcome the vertigo that still threatened to make him let go, he shuffled back to where he had come from.

Angry hands grabbed him as soon as he climbed back through the open window. His arms were once more twisted behind his back, making him arch away in pain, and then he was pushed down to his knees, which hit the floor with a painful crack. He shivered as he sat back on his heels, shoulders slumped and sweaty hair hanging in his eyes …

_To be continued ... _


	4. Chapter 4

Too Close to Home --- Chapter 4 

Angry hands grabbed him as soon as he climbed back through the open window. His arms were once more twisted behind his back, making him arch away in pain, and then he was pushed down to his knees. He shivered as he sat back on his heels, shoulders slumped and sweaty hair hanging in his eyes …

"What the hell did you think you were doing? Surely you did not expect that little stunt to succeed?"

The small man Alex had met in the control room was yelling down at him. Alex saw a blur of movement, and then suddenly his entire head snapped back from the force of the blow that had landed on the side of his face. His eyes smarted and his cheek burnt.

"Answer me, boy! Did you think you would try to save the world? Play the hero? Do you have any idea who I am? _No?_ Of course, not. You're just a boy. I am Alistair Rothman. I am representing the Black Hawk Group on this mission and—"

He stopped, mid-speech, and stared at his prisoner. Alex had recoiled, as though slapped again, his eyes widening in horrified recognition. _"Rothman?"_ Alex whispered weakly. "Rothman, like _Julia_ Rothman?"

They stared at each other wordlessly, before the small man suddenly waved his guards out of the room. They let go of Alex, and he was finally able to press a comforting hand against his injured cheek. He was not surprised to find a smear of blood on his fingers. The blow had almost taken his head off!

Alistair Rothman's eyes were like ice … but now Alex could see the underlying similarity to Julia. They had the same emotionless face; the same chiselled cheekbones and fine features. Were it not for the twisted scar running down his face, Rothman would have been a very handsome man, taking after his mother. He could not have been much more than twenty-five years old.

"How do you know my mother?" he snapped, glaring down at Alex.

"I …"

Alex hesitated. This was his chance to save himself, but it meant coming up with a convincing lie. Perhaps he could buy the school some time, and then MI6 would be able to mount a rescue operation. Alex stared right into Rothman's eyes and said, "I met her in Venice. She worked with my father."

Rothman felt indecisive. He didn't know what to make of this situation. It was obvious to him that the boy was telling at least something of the truth – how else could he have known about Julia and about Venice?

"What else do you know?" he snapped, needing to hear more before he could decide what to do with Alex.

Alex swallowed heavily. The headmaster and secretary were listening intently, and Alex didn't want to give away too much information. Then again, unless Alex managed to pull a miracle, in an hour all the staff and students would be dead, and then they wouldn't ever be able to repeat Alex's secrets …

"I know what your mother _– and my father –_ did. I know of her organisation and I know that she wouldn't be very impressed by this messy job—"

Alex's teeth closed with a snap as Rothman backhanded him again. He'd bitten through his lip. He shut up. Rothman smiled coldly as blood dribbled from Alex's mouth.

"Then you obviously know nothing. _Cleaver!_"

The heavyset guard reappeared.

"Make sure young Mr Rider here cannot escape again. The plan stays the same. I'll shoot the brat myself. Less than fifteen minutes left until we start the transmission. Those idiots in the government think they're so clever, setting us up like they did. They probably think we're bluffing. But we'll have the last laugh … and very soon they'll be able to witness exactly what they're up against."

With a short laugh, Alistair Rothman left room. Alex wiped his fringe out of his eyes – he felt grimy and helpless, condemned to spend the last minutes of his life tied up on the floor of the school secretary's office. He couldn't believe he'd survived all those adventures just to end up like this! But even as he furiously tried to think of a way to escape, at heart he knew that it was pointless. There were too many guards, too much surveillance.

His eyes kept straying to the clock mounted on the wall behind Mrs Bedfordshire's desk. The seconds were ticking by too quickly, turning into minutes. _It wasn't fair_. Alex managed to keep a brave face as Cleaver dragged him to the radiator and handcuffed him to it, but he could feel a knot forming in his throat and a strange prickling behind his eyelids.

He kept his eyes firmly cast down – it was too late to explain things to his headmaster, and eye contact was sure to release his tears and make him lose face. Cleaver stood alertly by the door, keeping an eye on Alex's every move. There was really no way out.

_To be continued ... _


	5. Chapter 5

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 5**

_He kept his eyes firmly cast down – it was too late to explain things to his headmaster, and eye contact was sure to release his tears and make him lose face. Cleaver stood alertly by the door, keeping an eye on Alex's every move. There was really no way out. _

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

Alex shook his head against the echoing ticks of the clock. But it was like he couldn't control his own thoughts. His heart hammered away against his ribs in rhythm with the ominous beat, every beat bringing him closer to death … Tick. _Thud_. Tick. _Thud_. Tick. Surely he was going to explode from the tension?

The hour of his execution edged ever closer.

Alex could hear snippets of animated conversation in the control room – mostly, these were radio conversations between the snipers and the guards inside the school, confirming that everything was still under control. In the reception room, Mrs Bedfordshire was sobbing quietly and the headmaster looked green with anxiety. The smell of sweat and fear was pervasive, and Alex's face stung where he had been hit. It felt like the sweat and blood were burning away at his skin.

And all too soon the final minutes arrived. The hustle and chatter from the main office suddenly ceased and Rothman re-entered the room, accompanied by two of his men. Cleaver held his position by the door. He looked entirely too bored by the proceedings, as though it really didn't matter to him that a fourteen-year-old boy was about to be cold-bloodedly murdered.

"Ready to die, _Alex_?" Rothman scoffed, his grey eyes gleaming with excitement. He nodded to one of his men, and Alex saw that he was holding a modern digital camcorder. He pressed a few buttons and then his gaze focused on the LCD screen that showed what he was recording.

"Ready to transmit," the cameraman announced gleefully, winking at Alex as thought they were sharing a joke.

"Transmitting!" replied a voice from the control room.

Mrs Bedfordshire's sobs amplified. She had turned her head away from the scene, unable to watch the horror that was about to happen. The camera swept across the room once and then settled on Alex.

In the Royal and General building, Mrs Jones watched the television screen bleakly. This image was now transmitting live across the entire United Kingdom. The MI6 technicians were of course working hard to override the signal, but it looked like the population was about to be forced to witness the death of a schoolboy. They could have turned off their sets, of course, but morbid fascination kept them stuck to their screens.

Even Jack Starbright found it impossible to look away when her usual programme suddenly disappeared, replaced, to her horror, by a clear image of Alex looking fearfully up at the camera. He looked terrible – drenched with sweat and beaten and even his floppy fringe could not conceal the terror in his eyes.

"Dear people of England," an off-screen voice announced. "I am speaking in the name of the Black Hawk Group. Some of you might have heard of us. We have placed several, very _simple_ demands on your government; however, they are not willing to cooperate with us. In consequence, we are appealing to you, normal citizens, to help us convince your government to concede to our demands. If not … then I am sorry to say that we will be killing all the students of a London school we currently hold hostage. Innocent children will die ... and they won't be the last. After this school we will go after others – more and more until your government sees sense."

A tense silence fell across the country as Rothman finished his speech and allowed the information to sink in. The only sounds that could be heard were the raspy, shallow breaths of Alex and the faint sobbing of the school secretary in the background.

The tension was heightened when Rothman stepped into the picture. A black balaclava covered his face and he held a handgun – a semi-automatic pistol with a silencer screwed on the end. He didn't _need_ the silencer, of course, but it made the weapon look more impressive and somehow more lethal.

The country watched with bated breath as Rothman slowly raised the gun, bringing it in line with his arm, and approached his young victim. Alex visibly flinched, as though his body wanted to back away into the wall, _through_ the wall, but he did not beg or cry. In fact, despite his obvious terror, he also looked resigned – there was no way out and he knew it.

Rothman stopped only when the cold steel of the silencer was pressed against Alex's forehead. If Alex thought his heartbeat had been strong previously, it had now gone completely wild and erratic. His pulse fluttered madly in his neck, visible in the frame of the zooming-in camera. He could not stop a few rogue tears slipping from the side of his eyes and running down his face.

In central London, Mrs Jones and her boss, Alan Blunt, gritted their teeth. They hadn't wanted this for Alex. If truth be told, they'd been getting attached to the boy. They'd foreseen a long and fruitful professional relationship with him.

In Chelsea, Jack screamed and cried as she stared the screen from between her fingers, unable to do look away, yet unable to watch.

Everywhere, people watched in silent shock, phones rang unanswered and reporters shut up – for once, they had been reduced to speechlessness. London had almost been brought to a complete standstill.

They all watched as Rothman's lips twisted into a cruel smile under the balaclava. His finger tightened on the trigger …

_CRACK!_

_To be continued ... _


	6. Chapter 6

Too Close to Home --- Chapter 6 

_Everywhere, people watched in silent shock, phones rang unanswered and reporters shut up – for once, they had been reduced to speechlessness. London had almost been brought to a complete standstill._

_They all watched as Rothman's lips twisted into a cruel smile under the balaclava. His finger tightened on the trigger … _

_CRACK!_

Collectively, over half the population of England cried out and flinched, expecting to see an explosion of blood and gore.

There was none.

Alex's pupils were still wide and dilated; his ragged breaths still clearly audible. He was very much alive. _The gun had not been loaded._

It took a few moments for Alex to process this new information, and then his body seemed to crumple up like paper – he sagged back, pants mingling with faint sobs, as he understood that he was not yet to die.

Rothman pulled the gun away. It had left a circular red mark imprinted on Alex's forehead, like the bulls eye in the middle of a target. Rothman turned to face the camera, so that his emotionless grey eyes were clearly visible through the slits of his balaclava. He sneered and pulled a bullet magazine from his breast pocket and slotted it into his handgun. Still sneering, he twisted to one side and fired off two, very rapid shots.

The camera followed the trajectory of Rothmans's bullets. Both had hit their mark. The headmaster and the school secretary lay dead on the floor, twin pools of blood rapidly soaking into the carpet beneath them.

"Next time, it _will_ be the children," Rothman promised.

The transmission cut out.

Alex had seen it all. He had looked death in the face and seen it strike down yet more innocent people. He had survived once again, but at great cost to other lives. A terrible sense of guilt threatened to overwhelm him.

_"Why?"_ he croaked hoarsely, barely able to articulate the words.

Rothman laughed, yanking the balaclava off his face and throwing it aside. "It was a test, Alex Rider, to see how tough you are; to see if you really could be one of us."

"I'll never be one of you," Alex immediately responded. His defiance was marred by the way his voice still shook from the shock of what he had just witnessed.

"You knew my mother. You knew of her work and yet you didn't tattle on her or on Scorpia. You may only be a boy, but you're brave. Whether you like it or not, you're one of us."

Alex looked at the corpses on the floor. He'd always thought that violent films and video games were supposed to desensitise one against such horror, but he didn't feel desensitised at all. On the contrary, he felt nauseous and cold inside. Like the teacher _– Mr Simms –_ upstairs, the headmaster and secretary had been put down to make a point. The agents of the Black Hawk Group were ruthless, and Alex had to be careful.

"I could never kill like that," he croaked, still staring at the corpses lying in a large pool of blood.

_"Never say never, Alex."_

Cleaver unlocked Alex's handcuffs and hauled him bodily to his feet. Alex trembled all over – he didn't think he could stand, but he had to get out of this room; away from the bodies.

Nobody tried to block his way as he stumbled shakily through the office door and out into the hallway. Cleaver followed him, but made no move to intervene, so Alex made his way to the bathroom, where he let the cold water wash over his face. It swirled down the drain, brown-tinged with blood. His reflection in the mirror looked awful. The left side of his face had swollen, and the vivid red print of Rothman's hand was obvious against his pale skin.

"What now?" he asked Cleaver, wondering – fleetingly – whether he could take out the large man with a karate kick. But he was too weak for that. His legs were still hardly supporting his weight and he could think of nothing but the horrible way in which Mrs Bedfordshire's fearful sobs had been so brutally cut short.

He leant against the sink for support for as long as Cleaver would let him, before reluctantly making his way back to the office.

Rothman was waiting for him and beckoned him to a chair. _The headmaster's old chair_, Alex noticed dully as he let himself slump into it.

"We need to talk, boy. Tell me what you know of my mother. Why did you meet her? It wasn't her style to meet with the families of her business _associates_."

Alex thought quickly. "My father was special to her," he rasped, hating the way his voice was still not functioning correctly. "They were … _fond_ of each other."

Rothman seemed to find this highly amusing. "Many men were _special_ to her," he mocked. "My father was one of them. He was discarded as soon as the honeymoon was over. Still … she obviously valued your father's work enough to allow you into the picture. What happened to your father?"

Alex looked down. He knew the truth, but it was easy to repeat the lie he'd believed for such a long time. "He died. The British Secret Service shot him. In the back. But that doesn't mean I want to fight them," he added quickly. "I just want to be left alone."

He counted on the fact that Rothman would not know too much of his mother's affairs. Although quite a bit older than Alex, he would have been very young at the time of John Rider's death.

Rothman looked intrigued. "And why did she want to meet with _you_?"

Alex licked blood from his lip. It had trickled from the cut in his mouth. "That was more recent. She said I reminded her of my father and that I was old enough to make my own decisions. She told me the truth about him, but I wasn't interested in her world. As I said: I just want to be left alone."

But being left alone was no longer an option. Rothman's cool eyes were telling Alex that he had no choice in the matter. His life was again being manipulated for him like he was some kind of puppet for MI6 or for Scorpia … and now for the Black Hawk Group.

Alex smiled bitterly. In less than thirty minutes, the point would be moot, for the school's deadline was rapidly expiring. It didn't seem likely that MI6 would let the Black Hawk Group simply disappear into the sunset after they murdered the entire student population of Brookland. Knowing his luck, he'd probably be killed by his own side.

In fact, over at the Royal and General, things were on the move. For all his resolutions not to storm the school, Alan Blunt had been getting progressively more nervous about the situation. The Back Hawk Group was going to kill everyone, and Alex Rider was clearly in no position to be of any assistance. Storming Brookland was starting to look like the most attractive option. Even if only a few lives could be saved … well, _something_ was always better than _nothing_ … and it would show the Black Hawk Group that MI6 did not negotiate.

Thus at the same time as Alex was recovering from the shock of almost having his head blown off, Special Ops agents were being briefed on what was going to be one of the riskiest and most high-profile operation of their lives.

_To be continued ... _


	7. Chapter 7

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 7**

_Thus at the same time as Alex was recovering from the shock of almost having his head blown off, Special Ops agents were being briefed on what was going to be one of the riskiest and most high-profile operation of their lives._

Wolf listened intently as his commanding officer briefed the Alpha Unit on the hostage situation. Three hundred students and their teachers were being held at gunpoint. The headmaster and school secretary were already dead. There was no saying how many others had been killed in the initial attack.

The plan was relatively simple, albeit dangerous: MI6 snipers would storm the buildings surrounding Brookland school – their job would be to take out the snipers of the Black Hawk Group, which were already occupying those buildings. There would be no time to waste, for the terrorists inside the school would surely overhear the start of the attack. They would be ready and might start killing people. Therefore, the Alpha Unit would abseil onto the school from helicopters. They would storm the building from within, using the roof entrance to avoid detonating the bombs on the front doors. Simultaneously, the MI6 snipers would start bringing down the terrorists. Shoot to kill – every clear shot had to be taken.

Wolf sighed. The situation was a nightmare; there was _no way_ all the children could be saved, so it was a question of saving as many as possible … and of taking out as many terrorists as possible without getting killed in the process.

The commanding officer finished his briefing with the promise that this plan of action had been devised with the help of the Russian general who'd been in charge of the hostage situation in Beslan – they would not be making the same mistakes twice. Wolf did find that promise particularly reassuring. Beslan had been a complete disaster.

_"Any questions?"_

Wolf stood up. "What about Cub? He's in the main office, a prime target. Shouldn't we attempt to secure that area first?"

The commanding officer shook his head. "It's a necessary sacrifice. The success of this operation rests on getting to the civilian students in the classrooms before the terrorists finish them off. For that, we need speed. We cannot afford to rescue Cub."

"But, sir, he's one of _ours_."

"Then he knows the risks of his job. I'm sorry, but I want no one entering that office until I give the all clear. Now let's get going! There's no time to waste!"

Wolf slumped back in his chair. He knew his officer was right, of course, but he hated the idea of leaving Cub in the hands of the Black Hawk Group. It didn't seem right, after all the boy had given for his country. After all, it was like it was his job by _choice_. Images of Alex's beaten face from the earlier transmission flashed in Wolf's mind. No, it really wasn't fair.

"Come on, Wolf," a sympathetic voice urged. It was a massive black agent, code-named Beefy. They'd worked together before and Beefy seemed to understand Wolf's sorrow. "We'll secure the school, and then we'll see if we can get Cub out of there, all right? But now we have to go get changed. Their time is running out!"

ooo

Alan Blunt watched the last of the Alpha Unit leave the room. He'd attended the briefing from a desk in the corner. When Wolf had asked about Alex, Blunt felt a stab of guilt. It was a rare emotion, brought on by the helplessness of the situation. It should have been a perfectly normal school day. Alex should have been safe.

Although he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, Blunt had recognised Alistair Rothman during the transmission. His small stature and cruel tone were inimitable. He could only hope that Rothman didn't know anything of the role Alex Rider had played in Julia's death. The official story was that MI6 had busted Julia just before she could implement her plan to poison the schoolchildren – Alex's involvement had been left out completely. It was safer for everyone that way.

But of course, Scorpia knew, at the very least, that Alex Rider had somehow betrayed them. The question was, how good were the connections between Scorpia and the Black Hawk Group?

Blunt made his way back to his office, from where he'd be monitoring the rescue operation on a large screen. The commanding officer, Dale, was in charge on the ground, but if anything went wrong, then it was Alan Blunt who would make the executive decisions.

Mrs Jones was already waiting by his door, sucking on a peppermint.

"How was the briefing?"

"Pretty standard. If we didn't know the Black Hawk people were so trigger happy, I'd say it was a clinch. As it is, Dale gave a 20/80 chance for complete success without unnecessary deaths and a 50/50 chance for a moderate success. The upper floors should be easy – our snipers will remove the terrorist threat, and the Alpha Unit should be able to secure the classrooms and evacuate the children before anything else can happen. But from then on, there's no knowing what they'll be dealing with. It could go either way."

He let himself into his office, closely followed by Mrs Jones. The screen was already alive, showing the inside of the helicopter that was currently rushing the Alpha Unit to Chelsea. Blunt knew that in the Royal and General basement, Smithers and his team were carefully observing the images from many different small cameras, always selecting the most relevant picture to send up to Blunt's office.

Mrs Jones paced by the window. "I still don't understand why they targeted that school," she wondered out loud. "I mean, it's not renown, there's nothing special about it … I can't help but think that this all revolves around Alex somehow."

"Nonsense. It's a coincidence. You saw the transmission. They had no idea who he was. They thought he was just a student like the others."

Mrs Jones was not convinced, but she said nothing. She sat down beside Blunt to wait for the rescue operation to start.

ooo

In the helicopter, the tension was mounting. They were hovering near the school, waiting for the word from the snipers. The helicopter had the logo of a national news agency emblazoned on the side, making it look as though it was simply hanging around in the hope to get some morbid images for the evening news.

Wolf could see the flashing lights of many police cars and ambulances down below. They had formed a perimeter around the school, but did not dare get too close. Nevertheless, it was reassuring to see that there was no way the terrorists could escape. Both land and air were covered.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life: "Alpha Unit? This is Sniping Stag. The buildings have been cleared of enemy snipers. Your route is clear. Repeat: the enemy have been removed. Proceed to Phase Two."

The Alpha Unit wasted no time. Within seconds, ropes were thrown from the chopper and the Specials Ops agents abseiled down, swiftly and silently. They wore special shoes that made no noise as they padded over the roof toward the fire door. In less than a minute, they had all left the helicopter and were spreading out inside the school.

Wolf followed Beefy down the stairs. Nearby, they could already hear loud screams followed by a burst of gunfire as the first classroom was secured. Before long, those students would be hoisted to the safety of the chopper. But Wolf was not concerned with those students. He was part of the unit that would prevent guards from leaving the headmaster's office. They were to form a blockade of gunfire if anyone stepped out of the room, giving the other agents the best possible chance of saving the children. Dropping to one knee, Wolf pointed his assault rifle down the corridor and waited.

From all floors, there was shouting and terrified screams. The school, which had been so silent only moments before was now alive with the sounds of breaking glass, gunshots, fighting and running.

The headmaster's office door remained closed, but Wolf and the others knew that the leader of this operation was holed up in there … with Cub. Sooner or later, he would have to fight or surrender, and maybe, just maybe, there would be a chance to save Alex.

After about ten minutes, the noises died down. Wolf watched as groups of children were herded up the stairs to the roof. There were still bombs on the front doors and it was too risky to attempt to diffuse them until the school was empty. Some of the children staggered as though injured, but Wolf knew that these were the lucky ones … the survivors. Finally, the last of the children disappeared up the stairs.

"Ready for final assault," the commanding officer's voice ordered from the radio.

Using hand signals to coordinate their attack, Wolf and his unit crept closer to the headmaster's office. They positioned themselves on either side of the door. On Beefy's signal, Wolf kicked down the door, letting agents mill into the room, their rifles ready.

Wolf immediately followed them, but then he stopped in shock. He'd expected to find a command base here. But the room was empty. There was nothing to suggest that this room had ever been anything but a headmaster's office. Nothing to suggest that anything abnormal had happened here … other than the two corpses lying in a pool of rapidly congealing blood in the adjoining room.

Wolf cried out in frustration. The leaders of the Black Hawk Group had disappeared. And they'd taken Alex with them.

_To be continued ... _


	8. Chapter 8

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 8**

Wolf cried out in frustration. The leaders of the Black Hawk Group had disappeared. And they'd taken Alex with them.

Twenty metres below ground, Alex Rider had to trot to keep up with Rothman and his men. He was escorted between two armed guards. They kept a watchful eye on him, even though their obvious priority was to escape. Cleaver closed the party. He was carrying an assault rifle and turned around periodically to check the ground they'd already covered. Any Special Ops agents that discovered the hidden trapdoor in the school storeroom would get a nasty surprise if they tried to follow.

Alex was being made to hurry down a dark tunnel – the only light came from Rothman's halogen torch. The air smelled vaguely of sewerage, and Alex realised that they had to be in one of the many disused tunnels built under London at the start of the twentieth century. Occasionally, a faint rumble seemed to travel through the walls. They couldn't be too far from the public underground system.

"So, is this escape route the reason you chose to attack Brookland?" Alex panted. He felt very bruised and was struggling to keep up, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Shut up," a harsh voice immediately snapped back.

But Rothman was feeling more indulgent. "Let the boy speak, Taylor. He's not our prisoner anymore; he's our guest."

Taylor only sneered in response, so Rothman continued. "You're right of course, Alex. We chose Brookland because of its _convenient_ situation. Did you know that the Central Line passes only 50 metres from your school building? We are here in a service tunnel. I doubt it's been used for many decades, but my men have been clearing it out for several months.

"You see, we expected your government would not go through with their side of the weapons deal. We predicted that we'd need the leverage of hostages. Unfortunately, we _did_ think they would comply with our demands once the lives of so many children were at stake. Were my demands so unreasonable, Alex? We're on our way to another exit that will feed us out into South Kensington. A van will already be waiting for us there."

"What about me?" Alex asked nervously.

"You're coming with us. You know things, and you could be an asset to the Black Hawk Group. But first, I need to find out everything there is to know about you. I can't just trust you on your word, can I?"

Alex shivered, grateful for the darkness that obscured his horrified expression. If Rothman and his cronies found out that he had worked for MI6, then they were sure to kill him. The question was, how accurate were their records? The whole saga with Julia Rothman seemed to have been very personal to her, and Alex doubted many people inside Scorpia knew the whole story … let alone people _outside_ Scorpia. In any case, right now he had no choice but to follow. He still felt a little groggy and could hardly keep up, let alone fight stronger men and escape.

It was another twenty minutes of brisk walking before they finally reached the exit. A metal ladder led the way out through a manhole. As promised, a van already stood nearby. Alex barely had the time to overhear the sound of faraway sirens from the direction of his school, before he was bundled across the pavement and into the van.

The pedestrians nearby either didn't notice the men with guns, or assumed they were part of the action happening several streets away – in any case, they did not bat an eyelid or raise the alarm, and within moments the Black Hawk Group and Alex Rider were speeding through Chelsea towards the bypass.

There was a tense atmosphere inside the van. The terrorists had failed in their mission. They had not managed to retrieve the promised weapons, and they had not avenged their betrayal. Alex didn't know who was in charge of the Black Hawk Group, but he _did_ know that they were going to be very unhappy with this outcome.

"Where are we going?" Alex broke the silence. He hated how small his voice sounded, barely audible over the roar of the motor, but he couldn't help the fear that gnawed at his insides.

"Somewhere safe. That's all you need to know. We'll be arriving in about two hours."

Alex leaned back and shut up. He observed Alistair Rothman – the man looked exhausted, his already small frame further diminished by slumped shoulders and a defeated expression. In contrast, the other guards were broad-shouldered and tough looking. Alex wondered how a man like Rothman had some to head this unit of the Black Hawk Group. Maybe he was particularly clever? Or particularly sadistic? Neither boded well for Alex's future. He knew he would have to stay sharp to get out of this alive.

Just as he was considering his options, Alex's mobile phone vibrated – the sound had been switched off for class. The phone had been rendered functionless by the Black Hawk Group's transmitter, but must now have come back into range.

Discretely, Alex placed a hand over his pocket, as though to reassure himself that the small device was truly there. He had one knockout dart left in the phone. More importantly, he had a GPS tracker. If only he could reach the button, then MI6 would be able to follow his every move and get him out.

"What's up, boy?"

Alex startled and looked up to find Rothman watching him intently. He shook his head defensively, moving his hands away from the phone and onto his lap. "Nothing. I was just thinking. This is crazy, you know! The … police _– everyone –_ they'll start looking for me. They'll guess you must have taken me with you. Much safer to just let me go now."

Taylor and Cleaver exchanged amused smiles. Rothman shook his head. "If what you told me about your father's involvement with Scorpia is true, then I bet the police will already have records on you. They'll know what kind of family you came from. They'll assume the pup is as rotten as the dog."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, _pup_, that they'll assume you joined us. Perhaps they'll even believe you organised the _situation_ at your school, that you were a part of it from the start. Oh yes, they'll be looking for you, but I doubt it will be in order to _save_ you."

Alex shuddered at Rothman's cruel voice. Thankfully, _Alex_ was the one who knew the truth. His father had been rightfully employed by MI6, and his work as a hit man for Scorpia had all been staged so as not to blow his cover. Alex knew that he had nothing to fear from the police. MI6 would tear the country apart to look for him.

_All he had to do was survive until they found him. _

_To be continued ... _


	9. Chapter 9

Too Close to Home --- Chapter 9

_Alex shuddered at Rothman's cruel voice. Thankfully, Alex was the one who knew the truth. His father had been rightfully employed by MI6, and his work as a hit man for Scorpia had all been staged so as not to blow his cover. Alex knew that he had nothing to fear from the police. MI6 would tear the country apart to look for him. _

_All he had to do was survive until they found him. _

ooo

The secure location of the Black Hawk Group turned out to be a magnificent stately home, situated in a grand estate at the heart of Wiltshire. Great iron gates let the van pass through an otherwise impenetrable barrier of high electric fences and barbed wire. Alex could see that the entire grounds were covered by CCTV cameras and guard posts. He felt more and more hopeless as the van drove along a gravel path and into an underground garage, effectively sealing him off from the outside world.

"Come on," the guard called Taylor growled, as he pulled Alex out of the van. The other guards exited as well, carrying the laptops and bags that had formed the base of operation at Brookland school. They quickly disappeared, leaving Alex with Taylor and Rothman. Alex was relieved that Cleaver had gone, but Taylor's presence felt just as overbearing. He came across as short-tempered and cruel.

The garage seemed to be part of a vast underground complex. It vaguely reminded Alex of Harold Sayle's factory in Cornwall — the same uneasy atmosphere filled the place, hinting at illegal and dangerous activities happening within these walls. Alex followed Rothman and Taylor to a metal lift — there was no buttons inside: it was activated by a key. Alex took note of these details, certain that the knowledge would come in useful for his escape.

"So you're going to interrogate me?" he asked, hoping that he sounded a bit braver than he felt.

Rothman smiled coldly. "We're just going to verify your story with the boss, Alex, like I said before."

No more was said until the lift jerked to a halt. The doors slid open to reveal a magnificent room. It was expensively furnished, and obviously served as some form of executive office. There was only one other person in the room …

Alex drew back in shock. It couldn't be!

Yassen Gregorovich sat in a wheelchair at the far end of the room, his grey eyes watching the arrivals with interest. There was a tremor in his hand, as it lay on the controls of his wheelchair.

"You're dead!" Alex exclaimed, pulling out of Taylor's grasp and stepping towards Gregorovich.

The Russian looked at Alex calmly, before deciding to ignore him and turning to Rothman. "You have botched up this mission more than I would have believed possible, Alistair. What happened?"

"They — the special forces — acted quicker than we could have expected. They were not at all willing to negotiate."

Gregorovich wheeled himself closer to the little group. "Twenty children were killed. Twenty! Out of three hundred! This will not even teach them a lesson! They will call it a great success … and for us, it is a great failure."

Alex gasped. He had heard gunshots in the school, of course, as he'd been hustled through the corridors down to the kitchen, but he hadn't known that children, classmates, _friends_ had been killed. "I thought you didn't kill children!" he accused, glaring at Gregorovich.

The Russian spun around to face him. "Alex Rider," he greeted coldly. "I do not _like_ to kill children. But sometimes there is no choice. Look at me. Look at how that bullet left me paralysed. I can no longer even do my old job ... and you know all about that job, don't you? They told me what games you'd played in Scorpia while I was recovering. They even blamed me for sending you to them in the first place. You let them take you in and train you … and then you betrayed them. Do you think yourself clever, Alex Rider?"

The expression on Gregorovich's face was murderous. Alex swallowed heavily and made a quick decision. "It was a misunderstanding," he pleaded. "I did what you said. I went to them, as you know. I wanted them to train me. But she set me up! She wanted me dead - that's the only reason I ran back to MI6. I was scared!"

It was a bold lie, but Alex had to gamble everything on the fact that Gregorovich and the others did not know the truth about who John Rider had truly worked for.

"Who tried to kill you?" Alistair Rothman interrupted. "And what's this about MI6?"

Gregorovich wheeled towards his desk. He didn't face them as he spoke. "Julia Rothman, your mother, tried to kill him. What you say makes sense, Alex. I had noticed the madness about Julia before; especially when it came to your father. I think she desired your death, because John continuously rejected her advances. Plain and simple revenge. Destroying John's son would have felt like vindication for her."

Alex fought to hide his sigh of relief. There was no mention of John's betrayal. "I didn't know what to do," he continued pitifully, touching his hand to his chest where the bullet had ripped through his flesh. "And then … after I got shot, I realised that no side wanted me any more. They were not able to protect me."

"They never are …" Gregorovich supplied. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts. "You will stay here for now, Alex. I will teach you about this organisation — you know we are linked to Scorpia, yes? But the Black Hawk Group deals with internal affairs only. You will be a great asset to us, following in your father's footsteps."

"You mean?"

"Yes, you will infiltrate MI6 for us. They won't suspect you, a child, to have ulterior motives. They never even suspected your father until the very end … and then they shot him. I won't allow that to happen to you, Alex. You will be fully prepared. One must never make the same mistakes twice."

Rothman interrupted again, "But how can we trust him? He never mentioned any of this earlier on? He made it sound like he'd only heard of Scorpia, not worked for them! He's a kid, for crying out loud! How do you expect him to infiltrate MI6?"

Gregorovich's lips twitched into a smile. "We will take things slowly. Calm down, Alistair, I know this boy. It will be all right."

Alex knew that he shouldn't feel sorry for lying to a terrorist to save his own skin, but somehow he couldn't help but feel guilty. Gregorovich had clearly cared about John Rider in a manner that went beyond normal professional courtesy. He sounded protective over Alex … and trusting. And yet Alex would betray him at the first opportunity. It seemed almost cruel.

ooo

The conversation with Gregorovich seemed to somewhat mellow Rothman's cold attitude towards Alex. If the boss said the boy was ok, then who was Rothman to disagree? He accompanied Alex to a lavish en-suite room on the second floor, leaving Taylor behind to bear the brunt of Gregorovich's anger over the botched mission.

"I'm going to lock the door," he explained when Alex had settled in, "But you are not a prisoner. Yassen knew your dad and he seems to think you're all right. That's good enough for me, even if there are still some questions I want answered in time. We'll get hold of some new clothes for your wardrobe later on. Is there anything you need right now?"

He left when Alex shook his head, closing the door behind him an ominous click.

Alex had no doubt that the room would be bugged, so he went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full power, before finally taking out his mobile phone. His heart fell when he saw that he was, once again, out of signal range. He had missed the opportunity to start the transmitter! He knew that he somehow had to get in touch with MI6 — they would think him a hostage; maybe even believe him to be dead!

Alex caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked drawn — so different from the boy that had woken up and gone to school that very same morning. It was only several hours later, but felt like an eternity.

Alex shed his clothes, ignoring the livid bruises that flashed in the mirror, and got into the shower — he knew a wash would make him feel better, and with no immediate threat in sight, he could also do with a sleep. Whatever happened next, he wanted to be sure that he was awake enough to face it.

_To be continued ... _


	10. Chapter 10

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 10**

_Alex shed his clothes, ignoring the livid bruises that flashed in the mirror, and got into the shower — he knew a wash would make him feel better, and with no immediate threat in sight, he could also do with a sleep. Whatever happened next, he wanted to be sure that he was awake enough to face it._

It was evening when Alex woke up. Through the window, he could see the stars clearly in the night sky; they looked closer than usual, possibly because he was outside the smog of London. He got out of bed and wished he had some clean clothes to put on – he felt stiff and his muscles ached, but he also felt alive. It was impossible to believe that only several hours earlier, he'd almost been murdered in cold blood in front of the nation.

The door was still locked and his mobile phone signal was still blocked, so Alex resigned himself to taking a book from the shelf and waiting for someone to turn up. His assumption that the room must be bugged was confirmed when it took only ten minutes for Rothman to arrive.

"Had a good snooze?"

Alex nodded. He patted his pocket to double-check that he still had his phone.

"Right I'm going to be in charge of your well-being while you're here. The boss doesn't want any of our more heavy-handed agents dealing with you. Doesn't want you to get hurt."

"I have no intention of trying anything," Alex said calmly.

"I should hope not. As you know, my mercy extends only so far."

He paused meaningfully, letting Alex shudder at the memory of Rothman shooting the headmaster and his secretary. "I know," Alex replied. And he meant it. "So, where are we going?"

"The boss has invited you to supper. We need to discuss how best to send you back to MI6 without them getting suspicious."

Alex nodded again, following Rothman. At this rate, he wouldn't even be needing the transmitter in his phone. He'd be sent back to MI6 to spy on them, but of course he'd alert them to Yassen's operations and then they would _have_ to protect him! Or so he hoped. Deep inside, he feared that Alan Blunt didn't really care about his safety.

They arrived in a grand dining hall. Gregorovich was already pushed up to the head of the table in his wheelchair. His face looked pinched and tense, but he brightened up when he saw Alex. "Come in, my boy, sit down. We have so much to discuss."

Alex sat by Gregorovich's right and Rothman took the place to his left. The table was set for only three.

"Alex Rider, you're a good person. An honest person," Gregorovich started, "Which is why I hope you understand that I'm going to take insurance on your cooperation."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you try to double-cross me, like you double-crossed Scorpia, then no amount of pleading that you were _running scared_ will be able to save your loved ones from my wrath."

Rothman grinned at Gregorovich's words – it looked as though he enjoyed seeing Alex's discomfort.

"I understand," Alex rasped.

Gregorovich placed a hand on his arm. "Think about it, Alex. This just makes your job for us easier. Just consider it like you don't have a choice."

_I never have a choice,_ Alex thought bitterly. "So what will my job actually involve?" he asked, not daring to catch his captors' eyes. "It's not like MI6 ever tell me anything. They just send me out on missions. I don't have access to any information."

"We are going to train you in the fine art of espionage. You'll not only keep us alerted of the missions they send you on, but you'll also employ some subtle interrogation skills to glean knowledge from your colleague at MI6. Furthermore, I will be expecting you to do some very simple information gathering from within the MI6 computer system."

It sounded easy – Alex would go along with the training and then trust MI6 to sort everything out and to terminate the Black Hawk Group. It sounded _too_ easy.

There was a sudden silence as the food was brought in. The waiter looked like a hospital orderly in his white clothes, but he served them in silence, somewhat breaking the tension. When he left, Alex finally found the courage to look Gregorovich in the eye. "I can do that. You won't be disappointed," he promised, "When does my training begin?"

During the meal, Gregorovich almost seemed to forget Alex's presence. He held a dynamic discussion with Alistair Rothman, talking about the degenerative state of British internal affairs and mentioning nothing of interest. Before sending Alex away for the night, he explained that the training would start first thing in the morning with an information technology lesson. As Rothman has already explained, he would be in charge of assuring Alex's safety while on the estate.

It was past midnight when Alex got back to his room. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, hardly even registering the click of the bolt locking him in.

OOO

The computer lesson was gruelling – Gregorovich obviously expected him to pick up advanced hacking and programming skills in record time, and Alex found it hard to keep up. He thought wistfully of the fact that only 24 hours previously, he'd been sitting in his maths classroom – how many of those classmates were now dead? Which ones? He didn't even dare to think about it.

It was on the way to the dining room that the attack happened. Alex was alone with Rothman, when suddenly a man dressed entirely in black stepped out from behind a corner. Rothman didn't have the time to react – an expert karate chop sent him crashing to the floor.

Alex immediately fell into a defensive crouch, making sure he wasn't in a position to be backed into a wall.He watched the attacker check Rothman's pulse before turning his attention to Alex, and was surprised to see the attacker relax a little.

"Come on, Alex," he whispered.

Alex froze. Was this the rescue at last?

"Who are you?" he whispered back, turning to make sure no one else was coming.

"I've come to get you out of here."

"On your own?"

Alex took a step back; it didn't make sense! Where were the Special Ops? The man nodded curtly and then jumped forward, obviously intent on taking Alex by force. But Alex was too quick; he twisted out of the way.

"Who are you?" he repeated more insistently, "Who sent you?"

"MI6," the man snapped. He looked weary, nervous that someone was going to turn up. And yet, Alex still wasn't convinced. On the one hand, he could feel relief flooding him … on the other, he was terrified that Gregorovich would blame _him_ for escaping and take it out in his friends and on Jack.

"I can't come with you," he decided out loud.

The man's face paled in shock. "I've come to rescue you," he said again, as though that explained everything.

But it explained nothing to Alex.

He'd had his plan all worked out – let Gregorovich train him and send him back to MI6. Now MI6 was going to muck everything up with a forced rescue that had virtually no chance of succeeding. There was no way Gregorovich would trust him after that! He couldn't take the risk.

"You can't rescue me," Alex snapped, willing the man to understand. However, the man seemed to be making his own decisions; he leaped forward, grabbing Alex in a stranglehold and pulling him backwards.

"Look here, punk, I've risked a lot breaking in here to save your sorry arse. You're coming with me whether you like it or not!"

Alex saw sparks dancing in front of his vision. He knew he had to act fast. He let himself go completely limp, becoming a dead weight in his attacker's grasp. As he felt himself beginning to slide to the floor, he suddenly spun around, ramming the palm of his hand into the man's chin, snapping back his head. Destabilised, but not knocked out, the man roared with anger and rushed at Alex.

Thinking quickly, Alex sidestepped the charge and swung leg into the man's groin.

Then he ran.

He only realised how stiff and tired he was when he burst into the dining room and stopped short, his lungs burning and his heart pounding in his chest.

"It's MI6," he panted. "They found me. I don't know how. They knocked out Rothman, but I got away. I don't kn—"

He broke off, surprised that nobody had reacted to the news. Gregorovich sat at the table with Taylor and Cleaver, the two heavy thugs that had helped take over Brookland school.

"Didn't you hear me?" Alex snapped impatiently, hugging himself against the stitch in his side.

Gregorovich smiled. "I heard you, Alex. Sit down and recover. You'll be pleased to hear that you've just passed our first test."

He moved his wheelchair away from the table and rolled over to Alex's side. "I expected no less, of course," he said with a touch of pride. "Now come on, you look like you could do with a shot of brandy."

Dazed and still very confused, Alex allowed Gregorovich to escort him to the table. He nervously accepted the glass of amber liquid that was thrust into his hand. He was too battered from the previous day to have been fighting and running. His nerves were shot … but Gregorovich was right – the brandy settled like fire in his stomach, numbing his pains and settling his nerves.

_To be continued ... _


	11. Chapter 11

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 11**

The next few days passed so quickly they almost seemed to merge into each other. Alex hardly found the time to sleep – he was dragged from his bed at sunrise and subjected to a rigorous two-hour exercise routine before going to his morning lessons.

The non-stop programme brought back memories of his fast track Special Ops training and also reminded him of his time with Scorpia. Only this time, there was no team and no backup. This time, he was alone.

Swimming, running and climbing were just one aspect of his physical training. He was also put through his paces in both hands-on and armed fighting techniques. The latter classes were clearly based on Scorpia's training camp, for many of the techniques were familiar to Alex. It was almost comforting to feel the heavy weigh of a gun in his hand again.

Furthermore, he was making some progress in learning the use of various computer software that would help him gather information – he was learning how to properly conceal bugs as well as how to coax event he most secret information out of the MI6 computer network. Some of these lessons were so interesting, that Alex became engrossed in the theory and almost forgot that he wasn't actually going to be spying on MI6 for real.

After that first day, Alex hardly saw Gregorovich, but Alistair Rothman was never far. Alex wasn't quite sure if Rothman was supervising him or if he was supervising his men to make sure that they didn't get too rough with Alex during their lessons.

_If that's that case, then he isn't doing a very good job_, Alex thought sarcastically, as he backed away from a very lethal looking Taylor. He was supposed to be practising defensive evasion. The aim of the lesson was to reach a semi-automatic pistol that lay on the far side of the room, but so far, Alex hadn't gained any ground at all. In fact, he was dangerously close to being backed right into a wall and then he wouldn't have the space to manoeuvre any more.

He'd made one early attempt to get past Taylor, but had been pushed back so forcefully it had taken all his strength to keep his balance and not fall at Taylor's feet. Such a fall would signify certain "death". It didn't help that Alex felt tired and stiff – he simply did not feel up to fighting.

Alex looked helplessly over at Rothman, who was surveying the lesson with a frown. "You've got to be more proactive, Alex," he recommended, when he saw how lost Alex looked.

Proactivity didn't seem like an option, when Taylor seemed alert enough to block any potential attack, so Alex took another step back, accepting dismally that he was getting further and further from the gun on the floor.

"If this were a real situation, Taylor could have put you out of action by now, Alex. Pull yourself together! You've wasted precious time just backing away while trying to think of something to do. Really you should have assessed the situation and gone for the gun within the first five minutes."

Alex vaguely registered Rothman's advice, but his eyes were on Taylor – it seemed a bit late for that advice anyway. Taylor was leering and closing in on him like cornered prey, but Alex suddenly noticed that his body was tilting slightly to the right, leaving an opening in his defences on his other side. Acting quickly, Alex threw himself froward and ducked past Taylor's left side. He very nearly made it, but a sharp blow in his side robbed all the air from his lungs, and he fell heavily on the floor.

He could see Taylor's steel-capped boot rising to kick him again, and pulled himself into a tight ball to minimise the impact.

"That's quite enough, Taylor!" Rothman called, approaching Alex's fallen body. "Come on, boy, get up."

Panting miserably, Alex dragged himself to his feet. He could smell his own fearful sweat in the air. He knew he'd failed this lesson badly – Taylor's smug expression was telling him so. Alex's eyelids prickled a little and he had to take a deep breath to stave off the tears.

"You ok?" Rothman's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Alex nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. He felt so tired he could have fallen asleep where he stood. And his side burnt where Taylor had kicked him hard. He felt tiny and useless.

"Perhaps it would be better if you had the rest of the day off," Rothman suggested, speaking more to himself than to Alex. "Catch up on some sleep and let your body recover. You've done well overall, but this is one area that still needs work. When you're fighting against people who are bigger than you and more experienced, you simply cannot afford to lose focus like that!"

Alex nodded again. He knew Rothman was right, but he didn't really care. He felt like a zombie as he followed Rothman to his room. It was not surprising that he was asleep almost before he hit the pillow.

OOO

"Do you think he can do it?"

Rothman studied Gregorovich's expression. He looked drawn and weary. And it was no surprise really, considering that MI6 had launched a massive manhunt for Alex, making the Black Hawk Group's operations even more difficult to manage than usual. In the aftermath of the botched hostage situation, the Black Hawk Group really needed to find its feet quickly before losing credibility in the international scene.

Could Alex Rider do it? Alex's abilities were not the issue, but his loyalty was. This was the one aspect of the whole plan that Rothman was still unsure about: _how could they trust Alex?_ Yet every time he voiced his thoughts, Gregorovich would smile and dismiss his fears as baseless. _Alex knows what's good for him and the people he loves,_ Gregorovich would answer. Gregorovich didn't seem to realise that, despite all appearances, Alex _was_ still a child. Children, in Rothman's experience, could never be trusted. They didn't know the meaning of the word.

Rothman took a deep breath: he knew what Gregorovich wanted to hear and he was prepared to ignore his own fears and trust his boss' instincts. "Yes. I think he will be a successful mole. I didn't expect us to be able to push him so far. With a bit more training, there's no saying how good he might get."

Gregorovich's expression brightened a little; a proud smile snuck into his face. "He's a strong boy. Gets it from his father. MI6 have already robbed him of any childhood he might have had; we're just taking advantage of their groundwork. A few more days and he'll be ready for a first mission for us. Now we just need to hand him back to them without making them suspicious."

"I've been thinking about that – won't it be obvious that something's foul if they find him in full health? After all, it's pretty obvious that he's been well looked after."

Gregorovich sneered. "They won't be finding him in full health. I know they will not negotiate with us as they have already made it clear that his life is worth nothing to them; but they will of course rescue him if given an easy opportunity. I think in a few days we should tip off Alan Blunt to the location of Alex's prison. We could use one our older warehouses – it would be no great loss, and they would be sure to respond quickly."

"How will you make him look like a proper prisoner?" Rothman wanted to know.

Gregorovich's smile was almost predatory. "You leave that to me, Alistair, but let's say that Alex won't be having to do any acting."

Rothman shivered. Whatever Gregorovich had planned, it didn't sound very nice at all.

TO BE CONTINUED 


	12. Chapter 12

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 12**

_"How will you make him look like a proper prisoner?" Rothman wanted to know. _

_Gregorovich's smile was almost predatory. "You leave that to me, Alistair, but let's say that Alex won't be having to do any acting."_

_Rothman shivered. Whatever Gregorovich had planned, it didn't sound very nice at all._

000

So dark …

And cold.

Alex shivered.

The ground underneath him was hard and he had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was eating some toast and drinking orange juice, and then everything became a bit hazy. From the dryness of his mouth he assumed he must have been drugged … but why?

Just as he was trying to remember what he might have done wrong, a harsh overhead light went on. It flood lit the room, momentarily blinding Alex. Once his eyes had adapted, Alex dragged himself to his feet with a groan. His muscles protested – he was still bruised and sore from the previous days of training. Now he could see that he was in a cell in the corner of some type of warehouse. Great iron bars contained him to a ten by ten area. There was a chemical toilet in one corner, but no bed or washbasin.

"Feeling all right?"

Alex jumped. He hadn't seen Rothman standing against the wall just outside the cell bars. "What's happening? Where am I?"

Rothman leered. "You're waiting to be rescued."

Alex squinted through the bright halogen light. "What do you mean?"

"It's time to hand you back to MI6 … but we couldn't make it too obvious now could we?"

Alex sighed. He had a good idea where this was going. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"As long as necessary. Your lessons will continue over there," he pointed at a far corner of the warehouse. Alex could make out exercise equipment. "But you will live in here. It needs to look as though you've been here for a while. We're also going to test you in a less controlled way."

Again Alex didn't understand. 

Rothman smiled coldly. "You've done well on your training, but we need to make you face some more realistic scenarios. No rules, no time out."

Alex shivered, as much from the cold as from the implications of what Rothman was saying. He knew he was good at offensive and defensive fighting; after all he'd taken on many bad guys during his various missions for MI6, but he'd always had the advantage of underestimation on his side. He knew that these guys were not going to make that mistake.

"Why did you drug me?"

"We decided it would be safer if you didn't know your own location. You'll be given that drug every day from now on. It will stay in your system for a while. Will make it more likely that MI6 won't suspect that you've been well looked after."

"But won't that make me fail your tests? I'm already feeling sick from whatever you've given me. You're going to kill me!"

"Not kill. No, don't worry about that, Alex. Just keep you a little disoriented. And make you work harder if you don't want Taylor to kick your arse during lessons."

Alex hugged himself tightly, fighting a wave of nausea. I won't eat, he vowed. I won't let them poison me again.

Unfortunately, by twelve hours later, Alex realised he didn't really have a choice in the matter. His insides clenched with hunger and he was unable to ignore the bottle of water and the cold sandwiches any longer.

It all tasted normal, but within minutes he could feel the dizziness and nausea rising within him. He almost wished the drug would knock him out, but he must have been given a lower dose, so he was not granted that mercy. Not knowing what else to do, he curled up in a corner of the cell, limbs shivering against the cold stone and closed his eyes. For some reason, that only seemed to make the pain worse. His stomach was on fire!

Alex couldn't resist drinking some water, knowing he was only adding to the problem, yet needing to feel the cool liquid sliding into his stomach. It granted him a few seconds of relief before the pain struck again – agonising cramps that wracked his body.

By the time Rothman returned, accompanied by Taylor, Alex had spent a night in cold sweat. The pain stopped him from sleeping and kept him on edge. He didn't get up when he saw his captor by the bars, but croaked, "I feel like I'm being turned inside out!"

Taylor chuckled cruelly. Alex didn't need to look at him to know his eyes would be glinting with sadistic enjoyment. "Rough night?" Taylor mocked, but Rothman interrupted before an argument could start. "Some people have a stronger reaction to the drug. It's pretty potent."

"What is it?" Alex wanted to know.

"It's a Yew-based drug developed by Scorpia. A high enough dose can cause death in minutes, but don't look so worried; your dose is enough to make you a little sick. We won't give it to you for long enough to cause any lasting damage. When you leave, we'll issue you with some of the formulation in case you ever need to get rid of anyone. As you'll have noticed, it goes undetected in food and water. Now get up. Taylor's here for your defence lesson."

Alex heaved emptily. He'd already thrown up the contents of his stomach during the night. Somehow he managed to get up and stagger to the bars to be let out. It was ridiculous, expecting him to fight in this condition, but he knew that Taylor wouldn't give him a break.

"Can I have some normal water first? Just a little. I'm completely parched."

Rothman considered the request before finally agreeing, "I suppose Yassen would not be thrilled if you end up dead before your mission has even started."

The hour that followed was one of the most gruelling of Alex's entire life. He was incapable of using any of his moves. His reactions were sluggish and imprecise and his attempts at using Karate were pathetic at best. Most of time, he was sprawling on the floor, crawling away from Taylor and whimpering as pain pumped through his veins.

Taylor seemed to be enjoying himself greatly, whereas Rothman obviously derived little pleasure out of watching Alex's feeble attempts to defend himself. He finally called the exercise to a halt and Alex let himself fall to his knees. He rubbed his eyes furiously.

"Three days, Alex," Rothman's voice broke through his confusion. "Can you survive three days of this? You'll be having a proper test this afternoon – as I said, no rules, no control."

Alex swayed dizzily. "Three days?" he echoed hoarsely. He rubbed his eyes again – they felt itchy and tender. "I don't think I can …" he whispered painfully.

"Well, then it's lucky we're not giving you a choice," Taylor sniggered. 

Oh God, it was only the first morning, the second day of having the drug in his system, and already Alex Rider wanted to die. He vowed to keep on going, if only so that he could get his own back at Gregorovich, Rothman and the rest of the Black Hawk Group once MI6 finally rescued him.

**_To be continued ... _**


	13. Chapter 13

**Too Close to Home --- Chapter 13**

_Oh God, it was only the first morning, the second day of having the drug in his system, and already Alex Rider wanted to die. He vowed to keep on going, if only so that he could get his own back at Gregorovich, Rothman and the rest of the Black Hawk Group once MI6 finally rescued him.  
_

OOO

When the night surveillance team first heard the signal, they were sure that they had to be imagining it. In truth, none of the MI6 agents hoped that the boy might still be alive, let alone that he might be in a position to activate his transmitter.

But there it was, clear as could be. High-pitched, tonal beeps calling for the attention of the surveillance team.

Mr Sykes, an elderly agent with many years experience and old friend of Smithers, wasted no time in organising his team: computer technicians were sent to verify the authenticity of the signal and to trace its location, while field agents were sent to notify the Special Ops and to prepare for a rescue mission. And then Mr Sykes picked up the phone and alerted senior agents Blunt and Jones. He knew that this news would be of personal importance to them as the boy's direct superiors.

Alex's signal turned out to be coming from a warehouse in an industrial estate near Guildford – only an hour away!

Less than fifteen minutes after the signal was first heard, the night surveillance team was briefing the Special Ops.

Less than fifteen minutes after that, a full assault team was ready to go to Guilford. Snipers, task force, helicopters and vans; it seemed that half of MI6 was on its way to rescue Alex Rider.

OOO

Alex was not aware of the approaching rescue teams currently speeding towards him down the M25 and flying towards him over Surrey. His world had long been reduced to a haze of pain.

It had been three days since he was first been poisoned, and it was very clear that his metabolism was reacting very badly to the drug. Rothman still forced him to take part in the tests, but it was a losing battle. There was no way Alex could even think straight, so fighting was out of the question. He'd failed all the tests, one after the after, leaving him feeling drained and upset … and not just a little hurt. It didn't seem very fair to be put through this after he'd agreed to go along with Gregorovich's plan.

One of Alex's last rational thoughts before giving in to the burning cramps in his abdomen and slipping into unconsciousness was that he couldn't wait to get that bastard Yassen Gregorovich back by betraying him to MI6. The grim satisfaction of that thought helped Alex to keep the will to live.

OOO

"Is he alive?" Tulip Jones wanted to know.

"He's alive, but he's in pretty bad shape. Looks like he's been through a rough time. And completely delirious too. Keeps calling me 'Tom' for some reason."

"But he'll live?"

The man at the other end of the pone hesitated for a moment, before responding, "I daresay he'll pull through. Soon as we identify whatever they pumped into him we'll be able to work against it."

"Any idea how he managed to activate his mobile phone transmitter?"

"I think the Black Hawk Group might have got a little careless. They clearly underestimated him and let him get too near his gadget. We had to shoot two guards to get at the boy, but apart from that it was almost too easy."

Mrs Jones smiled. They had Alex back. And he'd once against proved his strength as an agent. She also felt very relieved. After the fiasco in the school, she'd feared that the Black Hawk Group wouldn't give Alex a second chance. Like most others, she'd already thought him dead. It had, after all, been over ten days since his abduction. A memorial had already been planned at the school – Alex was to receive a special mention for bravery after the memorial for the Black Hawk Group's schoolchildren victims.

"I'll be at the hospital in a few hours. We have to debrief him before anyone else can see him! If possible, get them to keep him under until we get there."

"Roger that. We'll have guards everywhere. There's no way they're getting this boy back. Not after what happened with Scorpia last time!"

Mrs Jones smiled again. She couldn't wait to tell Alan the good news! She would also have to tell Jack Starbright of course, but that could wait until after the debriefing. National security was always her top priority. It wasn't like an extra day or two would change anything in Strabright's life – she was already in mourning any way.

Even though it was the middle of the night, Mrs Jones made her way to the Royal and General offices – several of the Special Ops agents had been sent there to be debriefed about the rescue mission. A sample of Alex's blood had also been taken to the MI6 headquarters in order for a specialised laboratory team to work on identifying the poison and work on an antidote.

Several hours later, Mrs Jones was entering Alex's hospital room with Alan Blunt. She stopped in shock at the sight of Alex's bruises – his entire face was blue and mottled, like he'd just spent a few days in a boxing ring. His eyes were closed, but he was conscious.

At the sound of newcomers, Alex opened his eyes and looked up. It took his eyes a moment to focus, but finally he recognised his MI6 bosses. He allowed himself to slump with relief. _He'd done it._ He'd made it out of the clutches of the villains and back into the camp of the good guys. _Alive._

"Can't say I'm sorry to see you for once," he joked weakly.

"How you feeling?"

Alex shuddered. "I think they pumped me full of some painkillers or something, but I still feeling like throwing up every time I move."

"We identified a poison in your blood stream, Alex. Now don't worry; you're going to be fine, but it might take a few days for it to clear you system."

Alex wanted to explain that he already knew about the poison. He even knew it was Yew-based, but Blunt cut him off. "You were very lucky, you know. But I don't really believe in luck. Any idea why they kept you alive?"

Alex had prepared this speech. He was going to tell them everything from Gregorovich's mistaken beliefs about John Rider's loyalty to Scorpia to his plans to turn Alex into a traitor. But before he could even start, he was again interrupted, this times by Mrs Jones.

"No matter _why_ they kept you alive – I don't really want to think about what they were hoping to achieve. Most likely they wanted to use you as a bargaining chip with us. I presume they found out about your association with MI6 or they would have killed you earlier. But the most important is that you are fine. The doctors think you'll be out and about in about two weeks. Good as new and ready to go! And that coincides well with school half term. There are a few cases we have running at the moment that could use your expertise."

Alex frowned, "You want me to take on a new mission?"

"Oh, it won't be anything dangerous, I assure you. Just some routine groundwork. You know the drill; people underestimate you because you're a kid, so you can slip in unnoticed. Just like now. The Black Hawk Group would never have taken the chance of letting you live if you'd been any older."

Alex knew he should tell them all he had learnt about the Black Hawk Group, but somehow he couldn't get his mouth to work. He felt too angry at both Blunt and Jones for assuming he'd be willing to take on another mission – so soon!

When you thought about it, the only people who truly underestimated him were MI6. Not only that, but they wanted to send him straight back on a dangerous mission – and he knew it would be dangerous, whatever they said now – when he was still so battered from the past two weeks that he didn't feel like he'd ever be able to move normally again.

He'd tell them about Gregorovich's plans later, he decided. And while he was at it, he'd let them know exactly what he thought of their little games. He didn't want to be taken advantage of any longer. At least Gregorovich didn't underrate him. On the contrary, Gregorovich had trusted Alex not only with information about the Black Hawk Group – its locations, agents, long-term goals and surveillance methods; but also with a task of direct importance.

To Gregorovich, it would actually make a difference if Alex lived or die.

To MI6, his death would merely be an inconvenience …

Those two facts in themselves made Alex fear for his future. He knew the time was not far off that he would have to make a decision about who to trust ... and who to work for. In the meantime, he was safe. He was with the good guys. He would be looked after. He—

With a small sigh, Alex let himself fall back on the pillow. MI6 had messed up his life. Leaking a small amount of innocuous information back to Gregorovich would keep his options open until the time came when he felt ready to commit to either one or the other cause.

**The End**


End file.
